Second Chance
by Ghost of Flatwoods
Summary: "WA Locked Room Challenge" story in which Death of the Endless gets captured in the Room of Requirements. But calling in for a favor from an old associate saves her.
**Second chance**

Under the flickering light of a lantern Filch worked. He was in the Room of The Requirements, hunched over an antique oak desk, scribbling hurriedly. He had used the room for years as a repository of cleaning supplies. Now it had become his secret study. He was careful to specify that no one could enter it, or leave, unless summoned by him. As a study for this secret experiment it had served him well, but soon he would need it for another purpose and he hoped that it would suffice equally.

If any of the Hogwarts students found their old caretaker, ancient gray Squib who seemed older than professor Binns, curmudgeon of venomous tongue and bad temper, at his witches-hour toil they would have been pleasantly surprised. For it was not a mundane work Filch was taken by; tongue slightly protruding between the thin, parched lips, he had covered sheet upon sheet of parchment with weird symbols: symbols that even those students who excelled in Charms or Defense Against Dark Arts wouldn't have recognized, although some of the teachers (mostly older ones, with obscure academic interests) would have connected them to old and mostly forgotten kind of magic. And those students wouldn't have liked the look in Filch's eyes, oh no. There was hunger in those eyes, the look that reminded of that of a wolf who hungered for a long winter and now had stumbled upon a defenseless and wounded deer on a snow-covered bank of the frozen creek. And they wouldn't have liked the manacles, resting in the middle of his table. Covered with intricate carvings, done in dripping red they looked like a black iron snake, a constrictor, waiting to embrace its victim, to squeeze it inside its iron grip. He rose. A white cat jumped from its lap. Malicious hiss rose from here as she crossed the room. Argus Filch picked up the chains and went towards the fireplace. Logs were merrily cracking inside it. Filch was crooning something under his breath, smiling. Inside himself he had prayed it would work, although he somehow didn't doubt it. Silhouette that he had spoken to, that strange man (or woman, Filch couldn't be sure) with two shadows have told him everything and Filch, who usually didn't trust anybody but flue to visit him regularly and wizarding brats to make a mess out of his life, had trusted this creature wholeheartedly. It felt odd, for sure, and some quiet part of his brain was constantly nagging him with the fear that he was actually headed to the St. Mungo's rubber walls ward but he kept silencing that voice with the persistence that was usually reserved only for chattering students or for anyone who was giving out any hint of happiness. The craziest part was that he never would have guessed that his pestering rheumatism, that unwanted companion that had tormented him for better part of the last twenty years, would show him the way to the book. Not just any book: the only book in the Wizarding world that would make him capable of doing magic.

But first he had his own part of the bargain to perform. He one manacle into the fire, wrapped his thin fingers around the crudely fashioned cross (books called him that particular shape was called Ankh) and spoke the words Two Shadows had told him.

It was a boring, rainy February night when he found the Book. Night of whistling gale, irritating downpour and humid fog that spread over the marches.

One of those nights when cold wind and persistent, boring rain stood intend on making Filch's rheumatism go wild. It began with dull grating inside his elbows and knee joints, and then spread into thick, restless gnawing that just wouldn't stop for hours. Sleeping was out of the question on those nights. He lit his lantern, beckoned Mrs. Norris and then went out to cruise lonely, humid hallways of Hogwarts. Maybe Peeves was up to some new mischief: and he could take out this red, painful fury that pain had brought into his bones out on him; or hopefully, some insolent brat had snuck out to make his life a little easier. He went, cursing under his breath, through empty corridors, gale whistling a tune in his bones, Mrs. Norriss hissing at portraits, ready to yell at any transgressor that came into his sight, but alas, the castle was fast asleep. Only his rheumatism stood eternally vigilant.

He was on the first floor when his luck finally turned. He heard voices from the Restricted section of Library.

"Hullo, look at that my Princess." He grinned even making an effort to come down and stroke the white fur of his cat. "It seems we have found somebody quite unfamiliar with school regulations."

He walked on tiptoes aiming to catch the transgressor (transgressors, he corrected himself, for there were two hushed voices out there among the bookshelves) unaware. He imagined the startled look on their faces, their stammering excuses, lies prepared on the spot: "Oh, Mr, we are sorry we were just studying for that potions exam, and left or access permit in the Dormitory" or "We are verrry , very sorry, but we seem to be lost, can you show us the way to the Whatever-Crappy- House- They-Belonged-In-Dormitories". As if he didn't know they were looking up recipes for love potion, or fart charm formula, or whatever they were making up to make his job harder.

In the end he managed to catch them- two seventh year Gryffindors that had chosen the Restricted section for a bit of midnight necking. Unfortunately, there were no muttered apologies, as they have turned to run. But as he yelled after them, shouting the shooting arrows of pain out of his system (it didn't helped at all, but he liked to think it did), a book grabbed his attention. It laid on the floor, all bound in black but somehow it seemed inviting."

"They probably knocked it down, Ungrateful, horny hooligans."

His knees squeaked like rusty hinges as he bent to pick it up. He pocketed it without even noticing, and when he later thought about it, he was inclined to think that some sort of unconscious premonition had led his hand.

"Seriously? This shit again?"

This was the only thing she could think when a manacle bracelet adorned with alchemical runes clasped around her wrist. She was unpleasantly surprised, but it was not like Death to lose it. After all, this had already happened. There was a king in Ephyrus, long ago that had stumbled upon a similar discovery. That lasted mightily long: nothing was dying and her Realm had almost collapsed. And group of British socialites, with too much time and money on their hands had botched this ritual and had only managed to capture has brother and scourged the world with Encephalitis Lethargica. This old man was more shrewd then them. She was frightened by his devilishly quick movements as he clasped the other manacle around the leg of the sturdy oaken table. There was a cat, prowling between his crooked legs and it hissed at her, viciously. She tugged at the chain vainly, aware that she had been taken again, captured as a stupid bear chained to the doorpost and made to dance and some madman's whims.

"It worked." The old wretch crooned. "I got her! I got her! I got her! Finally things are going my way! No Wizard ever done it, not even Dumbledore, not even that Chosen brat!"

He thrust his yellow teeth into her face: "I am sorry, lady it's nothing personal. I am just fulfilling my end of the bargain here."

"What are you blabbering about, you senile idiot?" She shied away, filled with revulsion.

"Which bargain? Frankly, I don't care which bargain it is. If you had read your classical mythology you would have known that those bargain end with just a bit of humiliation for me. I get to play damsel in distress. Wait for big hero to break this chain. You get to suffer for eternity because you thought yourself smart enough to fool one of the Endless."

" You really think I'd give a broom-flying fuck about whether you have end or not? Call yourself whatever you like too me you look like another one of those teenagers to me. Brats and deviants all of you. I' don't care about you. You are put away in here, in a place no one can access but me. That was the deal. I will finally get it, I'll finally show them." He started giggling, even doing a small dance on the middle of the room. Death's lips formed a tiny "o" of wonder.

"I wonder what will it be." He crooned cat purring in unison. "Phoenix feather. No, no, no!" He stood poised, index-finger1 extended, looking like an exclamation point! "Dragonheart fiber, only that will go for me Yes! He went for the door turning once more towards his captive.

"I will come and check out on you. Maybe." And then he left, cackling madly and violently slamming the door behind him.

Death rattled the chain twice, uselessly. She knew very well there was nothing she could do. The old psycho had stumbled upon another set of those death-warding symbols that had carried the magic of their own and there was nothing she could do about it. It was a real wonder how those thing kept popping out. On the other hand, people have always obsessed and feared death. It is only logical that they are always on the lookout about screwing her over.

She sat down to think about the situation. The fact that she hadn't seen this coming meant somebody was leading grandpa's hand. After all he had mentioned bargain. The motives were clear: one of hers unruly siblings was planning one of his or hers schemes that involved mortals or dying. And she thought she had a damn good idea who it was. She was snapped from her thoughts by a sudden awareness that she is not alone anymore. The presence took a clear, familiar shape in her mind.

"Well hello, Baron! I didn't think I'll see you _ever_ again."

Being ever vigilant for Peeves's harmful pranks, Baron had long ago taken a custom of tailing after Filch. He tried to remain as unobservable as possible, aware that his visage caused dread among the students, and even the teachers who had seen him many times on common banquets felt uneasy when they saw his bloodstained robe and heard the rattle of his chains. He saw old caretaker pick-up the book, and not with small wander he recognized it as the ancient tome brought here by the same friend old wizard friend of Salazar Slythering who have happened to bring Erised mirror to Hogwarts. Whatever compulsion made Filch pocket it, he knew not, but he sensed nothing good in it. Argus was never a bookish man, being born a Squib he preferred to work with his hands. While appeals of the magical book could have for Filch he could guess: after all it was well known that he was jealous of wizards. When he had withdrawn inside the Room of Requirements Baron went in with him, hiding in a small nook left between the fireplace and the far end wall. He watched Filch work, day after day, quite aware that Filch had trapped him inside when he made the room inaccessible to everyone else but him and when he made it escape proof. He was dimly aware that Filch was building some kind of prison, at first thinking that he found the way to get rid of Peeves once and for all. Trapping Peeves in a Room of Requirement forever might have seemed cruel to some, but Bloody Baron came from an age when chopping a unruly House Elf's head was perfectly acceptable. His tolerance for mischievous Poltergeists was nonexistent, a fact Peeves knew well and respected- he never dared try any of his antics if Bloody Baron was around. Over time, Filches behavior took to sinister tone. He started shirking his responsibilities, as he came to the Room of Requirements more and more often, his eyes bloodshot, his gaze nuttier than banshees. Under his breath he would mutter about the Two Shadow Man who promised to give him a wand even Squib could use if he traps his sister. And Bloody Baron was still imprisoned, frustratingly bumping into walls when he dared try escaping. He could have told Filch he was there. Reveal himself to him, but although he would have never admitted it to himself, he started fearing the old Squib: he seemed to get more unhinged as time rolled by. Also, there was an element of morbid curiosity that prevented him from doing so- the fear that if Filch got carted off to St. Mungo's or Azkaban, Baron wouldn't never know if this insane rune magic really worked. That old Symbolic magic, as they called it, was still sometimes mentioned in lectures during his schooldays although its practical applications vanished long ago. Salazar Slytherin told him it was too unpredictable and its scope was too narrow, so it has been slowly abandoned as soon as wands came into use. He was skulking behind the fireplace an when he heard voices. One of them being voice of the girl who appeared to him as he plunged a dagger into his chest, struck with remorse. He had begged for an eternity of penance and she gave it to him, speaking about his horrendous deed in her own casual, lighthearted way. And now that dark-haired psychopomp, was here, chained to the most unimaginative piece of furniture the Squib was able to conjure. In a moment she became aware of him, and her gentle voice brought fort multitude of emotions. He struggled to stifle them as he floated through the fireplace, leeching color from the still burning flames as he passed them.

"Well here I am, my lady. It seems we are both stuck here by this villain's actions." .Anger tittered in his voice

"So I am in Hogwarts again. I should have known, you guys are trouble, last time I dealt with wizards I ended up short for a couple of items."

"One of them is presently here in the castle. I must say that it is in safe hands."

"Would love to chatter, old pal, but any chance you would help me out with this." Death clattered her manacle with impatient gesture. As Bloody Baron drew closer to inspect the chains better, his set of heavy links jingled in unison."

"It's telling that I gave you those chains more than a thousandth years ago only for you to help me relieve it of mine."

Bloody Baron leaned against the ugly iron manacles. In his days, it was common for caretakers to chain students in those very manacles. Baron, being a stubborn student himself once ended up chained for a night for dueling young Griffindor in the dungeons. They were seventeen, enamored with same witch, and they started the duel with wands finishing it with swords. Gryffindor lost and Bloody Baron, still remembered the tight, painful clutch of those irons.

"They have death ward upon them and they are warder against various spells, _Alohomora_ included. But otherwise they are common, nasty iron manacles. One could bust them up with a strong blow. They are more apt to snap than this sturdy oaken leg. " He thought for a moment. "Could you lift the desk?"

"No. It's nailed to the floor. The old bastard thought of everything." She removed unruly strands of hair from her face. "I only wonder why. You know we are omniscient", She smiled modestly. "But I am still unable to pierce motives of your caretaker. It makes me believe someone more powerful is involved."

"Someone he calls Two-Shadow Man." He said still looking grimly at the chance. His own rattled noisily, moving on their own, animated by his buried wrath. "He spoke to him next to the Erised mirror. It's a mirror that shows…"

"Oh, I know, I know, good Baron…" Death laughed. Then responding to confusion on his face she added: "It seems like I am not the only one who left her Hallows here. Although with different intentions. Enough of idle chatter. Will you help me out, Baron?"

"Oh, I'd love to, lady Death. But those are death wards all over this manacle. Even if you, somehow, found a way around it, no one except for Filch and his bloody feline can leave the room. I tried."

"Well I happen to know the way around it. And as for the room, it holds no real power over me. This whole world, tiny bubble of water and silica floating in the darkness can't holds no power over me. Take my Ankh."

"I don't understand it…"

"The pendant around my neck… I can also give life, Baron, and if you are breathing and substantial you can break those chains."

"But…How can you give life?" For a first time in a long while Bloody Baron was confused with a multitude of emotions. There were surprise, anger at feeling like he was talked down to ( _you really think I don't know what Ankh is. I used to be a wizard)_ and deep down some sullen, fear before the unknown finality of life and death. Same gut feeling he had when ha put the dagger against his skin after looking at Helena.

"Every concept has power over his opposite. Life isn't a candle that is simply snuffed nor is Death darkness that suppresses life. One cannot be able to give something without being able to take it away. It would be like having a coin with two tails. Death is Life. Simple. Now, please take my Ankh and free me from this uncomfortable position."

"But I wanted to die…I…"

"Yes Baron, you wanted to die. Then you wanted to live in order to repent, for you saw that there is no Hell. Now, your penitence will be over. Take. The. Ankh!

With trembling fingers he reached for the pendant. At first he thought that his finger will simply float through the cross, and through the pale skin beneath it. No touch. No feeling. But as his fingers clenched around it, he felt the warmth of metal on his skin, and in one short blink _something_ had happened.

Blood on his cloak turned liquid. Rain of scarlet drops fell on the brown floorboards. Ankh was in his hand, his material hand. Perplexed he gazed towards his chest. The fabric was ripped, badly, cut with dagger through and through on his left, but there was no wound. Chains bound him, heavy and iron, but he ould feel the floor beneath his feet, he could feel blood rushing into his head, it hummed in his ears and pressed against his eyeballs, giving him migraine that he welcomed and dreaded.

It seemed to him as if somebody had woken him from sleepwalk with a hard slap.

"Khm-Khm. Chains, Baron. Please."

He lifted his own heavy chain and whacked over the links. The iron was sturdy, but the links seemed quite old and brittle. They soon shattered with a sound that seemed to deafen the Baron. His muscles exploded with energy, and he had a sudden urge to smash the table and char to pieces, kick the splinters and just hit his chain against the empty walls again and again. He summoned all his willpower to compose himself but yawp had still escaped his lips.

Death smiled and took his arm: "Alright lets bail, Baron. I have a score to settle."

"With …Filch." All of a sudden speaking was hard. His head hummed like a hive.

"One of my sibling and her employs were more pressing matter. But first we must leave."

Rain was falling over him. Cold, uncaring rain of the English marches. They were on an muddy glen, next to a shallow river. Baron's boots were ankle deep in mud. He wasm't so cold in.

"…centuries Baron?" Death smiled finishing his thought. She pried the Ankh from his, already pruned fingers. "I believe this means goodbye, Baron. With some luck you shall reach Hogsmeade. It's North from here. About an hour or two of walking. I would consider getting new robe. And a wand.

"I s-s-s-stay alive?"- he stammered.

"I can only take life once, and give it once. No more. So yes, you stay alive until my oldest brother deems it necessary for me to visit you again."

"I don't know what to think." Chains clattered down, pooling against his feet. "I needed to mourn but I never dreamed I never thought I deserved a second shot at life."

"I don't know about your dreams and wants,"- she said as she was disappearing into the night. but I really needed your second chance."


End file.
